Mischief
by Melannen Halfelven
Summary: an ordinary day in Rivendell . . . in other words the twins get into trouble. oneshot. read and review!


Mischief

Elrond pushed his dark hair away from his face, sighing. A courier from Cirdan had arrived in the early mists of the morning, and one from Thranduil later in the afternoon. At midday Elladan and Elrohir had spilt a jar of ink on one of the oldest scripts in Imladris, ruining it. Legolas, who was in the middle of his yearly visit to the Last Homely House, had nearly nailed Asfolath to a tree with one of his stray arrows, and had further complicated things by stealing Lindir's harp and not telling a soul of its whereabouts. Then the three elf-children had snuck honey onto Glorfindel's chair, making, quite literally, a sticky mess out of the Hall of Fire. Erestor, meanwhile, had found a dead fish in his study. To top things off, the tremendous store of Mirkwood wine which had been a gift three years prior, now had gone missing. The only clue to its disappearance was the incessant hiccuping of Legolas and Galdor. All in all, it had been a typical day.

With his thoughts meandering, Elrond accidently stepped on the edge of his robes and pitched forward. Thankfully, he caught himself and did not fall. With a very annoyed flourish of cloth and a very inventive curse, he continued on his way down the hall. Why did he have to wear these damned pavilions anyway? They made him look like a ship. He snorted, at least Glorfindel found it amusing, and Erestor, and the twins, and Celebrian, and Galadriel, and whoever else he might be mildly acquainted with. The Balrog Slayer had no idea how embarrassing it was to be in the middle of an important council with some of the most esteemed Lords in all of Arda, and have your twin sons come and want to use Atya's robes for the sails of the rebuilt Vingilot.

He ruefully shook his head; he was a pageboy, not a king. Though, unwillingly, he had accepted the scepter and everything that came with it, including Vilya, the Ring of Air. His boots clicked on the stone as he ascended to the second floor of his study. _Yes_, he thought with a tint of dark humor, _I have a study._ He smiled as he heard growls and giggles coming from under the partially closed door to his sons' bedroom. He opened the door.

Elrond would have rather faced an army of enraged orcsthan the look on his sons' faces at that moment. Both wore masks Glorfindel had carved for them; one was of Fingolfin, a mighty Elven king of old, and the other was a warg, with its face frozen forever in a bitter snarl. Despite that, though, it was still easy to see their large slate eyes peering through the carven wood melancholically at him. Elladan, who wore the guise of Fingolfin, lowered his shield and slowly lifted his fake sword from the warg's head and sheathed it, while the warg released his brother's tunic from his jaws. Elrond smiled when he saw them exchange mischievous grins.

_Little imps, merciless little creatures to mock my vanity in front of the entire council. _He laughed. They cocked their heads simultaneously, wondering what they had done that was funny. At their pathetically clueless and befuddled expressions, Elrond laughed even harder.

"It is late, and time for you to sleep." their faces fell. "Forget not that you have your first lesson with Lord Glorfindel in the morn." their eyes lit up.

"Atya," Elladan stifled a yawn, "We are not tired —"

"Just five more minutes?" Elrohir finished.

"Please?" They whined in unison.

The eldarin lord closed his eyes and huffed dramatically. "All right, but no longer."

By the time he returned five minutes later, they were fast asleep. Elladan was rolled in a tight cocoon of sheets, which he might have dismissed had he not seen the dark hair coming out of one end, and Elrohir was using his brother as a pillow. The elder of the two, if only by a minute, growled when he was elbowed in the ribs.

Elrond blew out the candles that lit the room and then went to his own bedchamber. He draped his emerald-colored cloak over the back of the tall chair in the corner and rolled his shoulders. He kicked off his boots, shed his tunic and collapsed onto the bed with a grateful sigh. Something metal poked his forehead. Snarling he tossed the circlet onto the small table by his bed; it slid off the other side and clattered on the floor. He would deal with it in the morning.

He was only faintly aware when Celebrian came in, but now it was his turn to grin mischievously.


End file.
